


The Case of The Misguided Marriage

by musicin68



Series: Mason-Street Mysteries [2]
Category: Perry Mason (TV 1957), Perry Mason - Erle Stanley Gardner
Genre: Action, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Banter, Danger, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Friendship/Love, Here's to Crime, Jetlag, Legal Trickery, Murder Mystery, Pulp, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicin68/pseuds/musicin68
Summary: Perry Mason's newest clients are a pair of mismatched newlyweds embroiled in a family dispute, but the discovery of a body means Perry may be defending his clients against more than just blackmail. With his ever loyal secretary, Della Street, as well as Paul Drake, P.I. at his side, Perry must make it through jet lag, marriage proposals, and a close encounter with the mob in order to solve the case before someone else ends up sleeping with the fishes.
Relationships: Perry Mason/Della Street
Series: Mason-Street Mysteries [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000980
Comments: 17
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows directly after the TV version of The Case of The Green-Eyed Sister (s01e21). For some reason (not addressed in TV canon) Perry seems out of sorts with Della until nearly the end of the episode. My explanation kicks off chapter one of this story.
> 
> Misguided Marriage also includes references to The Case of The Purloined Purse, though it is not necessary to read that first.

The sun had set, but Della Street hadn’t really noticed. If someone had asked her, Della probably could have confirmed that Gertrude Lade had poked her head into the law library at five-thirty to let her know that the phones were set up to go to the answering service and that she was going home for the night. She could also have told the curious that Carl Jackson had given up on the mess in the law library and left at his usual six-thirty.

Della was alone in the office, and though the time was nearing the witching hour, she worked on doggedly. A new edition of _Corpus Juris Secundum_ , two volumes larger than the previous one, had arrived that afternoon. The library was already full to bursting, but Della fully intended to make everything fit. She was going to have it reorganized and put back to rights before her boss arrived home tomorrow.

Perry Mason, attorney at law, was due back from a London legal conference in a little less than 24-hours, and for his confidential secretary the appearance of the office was a point of personal pride. She ran a tight ship, and even though she knew Perry would never say a word in complaint, the idea of him returning to the piles of books stacked about made her cringe.

She sighed. One more mess she had created. His whole trip had been a fiasco from the start, and Della knew she was to blame for a fair amount of that. Three weeks past had seen them wrapping up a successful case. With the jubilant high of victory had come a proposal of marriage, not the first, the third in as many months. Della was beginning to feel she could set a clock by Perry’s habitual question. A case wrapped up, and there it was. It always came in the euphoria of triumph, and because up to now he had always laughed off her refusals, how could she think he was really serious.

Only three weeks ago he hadn‘t laughed. It wasn’t until after she had turned him down that she had discovered he had planned a surprise honeymoon of sorts for the two of them in conjunction with his attendance at the prestigious International Review of the Law. Della, responsible secretary that she was, had changed the reservation to one because she couldn’t take it back. Nor did she regret saying no. In truth, the only proposal she had ever even slightly regretted turning down was his first, the only one he had made when he wasn’t riding the excitement of a win.* He wasn’t the marrying kind, and neither was she. When he came back down to earth he’d realize it, and things would go back to the status quo. They always did.

It didn’t change the fact that Perry had been grumpy and out of sorts for days. He would have left the country in that foul mood if she hadn’t thrust a case in his lap at the last minute. One that had ended up delaying his trip another week entirely. He hadn’t been particularly happy about that either, at least not until he had been drawn into the mystery.

He had left in a much better mood, and Della had managed things so there was no time for him to squeeze in a proposal as he got on the plane, just in case. It hadn’t been difficult. Perry was surprisingly soft-hearted beneath his granite exterior. With a little prompting he had graciously escorted his newly exonerated client to the start of her first real adventure.**

Between his busy conference schedule and the time difference, she and Perry had spoken less than a handful of times over the last week. Della thought he had forgiven her, but a tiny nagging doubt remained. What if things didn’t go back to normal? She sighed. Shelving books was a much easier task than shelving her own impracticable fears.

Della rolled her neck to the side, and shoved her doubts back out of the way where they belonged. When she saw him again, well, they were adults in an adult relationship. If he was still upset, surely they could talk it out like adults.

She could feel her muscles beginning to stiffen from the unusual task that had consumed the afternoon. She picked up a book, and climbed up on the step stool that allowed her to reach the highest shelf. As she stretched to place the volume in its new home she felt a pair of hands come to rest on her waist. Della shrieked in surprise, spun half way around, lost her balance, and came to rest against a familiar broad chest. Blue eyes, made even more striking than usual by red-rimmed lids, twinkled at her. “How’s tricks, Della?”

It took Della a few deep breaths before she trusted herself to speak. “Gosh Chief, you scared me half to death! Someone ought to put a bell on you.”

Perry Mason favored her with a winsome grin. “What are you doing here so late?”

Her lurking fears faded to nothing in the presence of his easy smile. “What am I doing here? What—what are _you_ doing here? Your flight wasn’t supposed to get in until tomorrow afternoon.”

“I decided to cut my stay over in New York short.”

“Aren’t you exhausted?”

“There were more pressing matters to get back to than sleep. In fact, one of those matters is pressing against me right now.”

Della couldn’t stop the blush that stole over her face. “Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

“But what are you doing at the office? It’s...” Her arms resting on his shoulders, Della twisted her wrist so she could read her watch. “It’s after ten!”

“When a certain secretary didn’t answer her phone at home I figured she must be at work.”

“Oh? And how do you know she wasn’t sleeping?”

“I was very persistent.”

“Hmmm, how do you know she wasn’t out on a date,” she teased.

He grunted. “I have it on good authority that her boyfriend has been out of town.”

“Maybe she was out with someone new.”

“Her boss is very demanding. He works her too hard. I don’t think she has time to date around.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You make this secretary sound extremely dedicated and her boss sound like an absolute ogre.”

“I certainly do, don’t I.”

She cocked her head in thought. “This employer of hers must have some redeeming qualities, or his secretary wouldn’t be so loyal.”

He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t know what they are. He works her all hours of the day and night, he barks at her, demands her time and attention...I’m quite certain he doesn’t deserve her.”

“That’s an awfully harsh judgement.”

He sighed. “I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t,” she rushed to interrupt him. “I was the one who made a mess of your trip, remember?”

“No, I mean it. I was an ogre and you didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re not an ogre,” Della argued, pursing her lips. She had turned him down in the first place, after all. “You’re a prince. You were just...under a spell.”

“Like in a fairy tale?”

She nodded.

“Well, there’s really only one solution for that.” He was grinning again.

“What’s that?”

“A kiss to break it.”

Della narrowed her eyes speculatively. “What if you’re really just an ogre?”

“Weren’t you the one just insisting I was a prince?” he asked incredulously.

“Just making sure I present both sides of the argument,” she said playfully. “How else will I keep you on your toes, Counselor?”

His laughter echoed in the small room. “I missed you, Della.”

From her precarious vantage on the step stool Della was looking down on Perry for a change. With a broad smile she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his. Sparks ignited the familiar warm burn, low in her belly. Oh, she had missed him too. It was a long moment before she pushed herself away. “Definitely a prince.”

Perry’s hand slid from her waist to her shoulder, pulling her back down towards him to find her lips again. “Only to you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she murmured against his mouth. When he paused for breath she asked, “Now that you’re yourself again, what are you going to do?”

“I thought I’d start by giving my secretary the day off tomorrow.” Perry wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifted her off the top step, and set her down on the floor.

“Tomorrow’s only a little more than an hour away. I had better finish what I started here.”

“I like the sound of that.” Perry brought up a hand tangle in her short curls and leaned in to kiss her again.

She put a hand on his chest. “I meant cleaning up the library.”

“I like the sound of that less.” His other hand moved to her backside and pulled her firmly to him, but a loud complaint from her stomach halted his lips centimeters from hers. “And I don’t like the sound of that at all. When did you last eat?”

“Lunch. When did you last sleep?” She shot back.

“It might have been yesterday, but I can’t be sure. I’m still on Greenwich Mean.”

“Then it’s time for breakfast,” she laughed. “But I think you should go home and get some rest. Otherwise you’ll end up sleeping through my day off, and I can think of a number of things we could be doing that are worth staying awake for.”

Her stomach protested again and Perry took her by the hand“Dinner. Now.”

“I haven’t finished—”

“I won’t hear any arguments on this, Miss Street.” He wrapped her hand around his arm and moved her briskly out the door.

The supper club Perry brought them to was still in full swing despite the late hour on a work night. Della had grown accustomed to the fact that a city like Los Angeles had few quiet nights. They were quickly seated at a table overlooking the dance floor where Perry ordered steak and eggs, it was his breakfast after all, fingerling potatoes, and roasted asparagus for them both.

When he had eaten his fill, Perry leaned back and stared at her. Della paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Have I ever mentioned that I love watching you eat?”

Della looked askance at him. “If you think flattery will get me to share the last of this steak, you’re more sleep deprived than I thought.”

He smiled. “No, I just mean I like the way you eat when you’re with me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen you eat when we’re with clients, even Paul sometimes.”

“Now I really don’t follow.”

“Small portions, delicate bites.” He shrugged with a small grin. “I like watching you enjoy your food.”

She thought maybe she ought to be offended, but the subject was just too ridiculous. She really needed to get him to bed. “What say we head back to your place so I can enjoy watching you sleep?”

Perry’s smile widened as she proceeded to finish off the remainder of her dinner without hesitation. As he signaled for the check, a couple stepped off the dance floor near Perry and Della’s table, their voices carrying over the music. “Well, I’m going to ask if you won’t.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help, Angela.”

The woman shook off the hand her partner had rested on her arm and marched toward them. She was an inch or so shorter than Della, with sharp, brown eyes and a self-assured air. Her clothing was stylish and extremely well-fitted. ”Excuse me,” she addressed Perry. “Are you Perry Mason?”

“I am.”

“I knew it. You look just like your picture in the papers.”

“Photographs are remarkable things,” Perry said dryly. Della stifled a laugh with her napkin.

The man who trailed after her cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Please, forgive my fia—my wife. I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner.” He was tall, olive-skinned, and strikingly handsome. His clothes displayed the same modish cuts, but he didn’t look quite as comfortable in them as the young woman did in hers.

“It’s alright,” Perry replied graciously. “We were just about done.”

The woman held out her hand to Perry. “I’m Angela Grant. This is my husband, Fredrick.”

“Frederick Grant?” Della asked, her surprise getting the better of her as she turned towards the young man. “Of the Grant Hotel?”

He gave her a retiring smile that might have been completely devastating under different circumstances. He was too handsome. “That’s me.”

Della suspected he knew just how good looking he was. There was something smooth and practiced in that bashful glance.

“Truthfully, it was my father’s hotel. I just inherited it.” She blinked. Being practiced didn’t make it any less effective, and she fought the urge to blush under his lingering gaze.

“Don’t be so modest, Freddy. You’ve been running things for over a year now,” Angela snapped. “That’s why we need your help, Mr. Mason.”

Perry shook his head. “I’m afraid my specialty is in criminal law. I don’t usually deal in business. Though I’m sure if you came by the office on Monday I could recommend—”

“That is precisely why we want to hire _you_ ,” Mrs. Grant cut in. “My husband needs your help because he’s being blackmailed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Case of The Purloined Purse by musicin68
> 
> **The Case of The Green-Eyed Sister TV version


	2. Chapter 2

Frederick Grant placed a hand on his wife’s arm. “My wife is exaggerating. I’m afraid it’s nothing more than a small family matter.”

“It’s my uncle.” Angela said, shaking off the placating hand once more. “Freddy refuses to believe what he’s like.”

Perry leaned forward, the fatigue that had settled on him receding into the background. “I see, and what is he like?”

“Absolutely ruthless.” Her glance slid suspiciously to Della who, in her ever competent fashion, seemed to have produced a steno pad and pencil from thin air. “Perhaps we might discuss this in private.”

“Miss Street is my confidential secretary. She’ll need to take notes wherever we discuss it. Would you like to sit down?”

Mrs. Grant’s gaze morphed from suspicion to dismissal as she sat down next to Perry. Frederick Grant remained standing between the two women. “My uncle intends to take control of Freddy’s hotel here in Los Angeles, as well as several properties in Nevada he’s looking to develop.”

“What exactly is he blackmailing you with?”

Angela Grant dropped her eyes to the table as she fell silent, and her husband shook his head. “He hasn’t threatened us with anything in particular—”

“He’s going to ruin you,” Angela hissed and straightened once more. “Victor Rossi doesn’t need something specific to blackmail you with. He manages just fine with intimidation and innuendo.”

Della’s pencil flew over the paper as she took down everything the couple said. Perry steepled his fingers. “What sort of communications have you had with Mr. Rossi so far?”

“He made his intentions clear at our wedding.”

“He approached you then?”

“During his toast,” Angela finished bitterly. “He announced to the whole room what a brilliant partnership he and Frederick would have.”

“Is that all? Has he been in contact with you since then?”

Grant cleared his throat. “He has. He asked to meet with me tonight. In,” gold flashed as he checked his watch, “half an hour. At the hotel.”

Della’s eyes flicked to Perry’s, but she said nothing. He heard her admonition just the same. It would make for an even longer day than he had already had, but he could start catching up on sleep tomorrow. “If I’m going to represent you on this, we do it my way.I need to hear from him exactly what his intentions are. That means letting me do all the talking. Will you agree to that Mr. Grant?”

Angela’s sigh of relief was audible. “Then you will help us.”

“There is the matter of a retainer.”

“Of course. How much?” Mrs. Grant fished in her bag as she spoke and pulled out a checkbook and pen.

Perry looked at her carefully. “Five thousand.”

She wrote out the check without hesitation and tore it from the stub. Perry took the check and passed it to Della. Her purse was open and shut with a brisk efficiency that belied the muted concern he could see in her eyes. She never did allow her personal feelings to affect her work, but Perry had no doubt she’d make her displeasure known later.

“And my conditions?”

“Of course we agree. Don’t we, Freddy?”

“If you think that’s best, Mr. Mason,” Grant conceded.

“Alright then. Della, why don’t you give the wandering boy a call and let him know he had better go on without us tonight. I’ll meet you out front.”

To her credit, Della didn’t even blink at his oblique request to get Paul Drake, private detective, started on the case. “I’m afraid he’ll be terribly disappointed,” she said as she excused herself to make the call.

“He’ll get over it.” Perry stood, “After you, Mr. and Mrs. Grant.”

They gathered their coats and made their way to the curb where Mason hailed a cab while Grant went to retrieve his car. Seizing the moment alone, Perry offered a cigarette to the woman next to him. “Now would be a good time to tell me what your uncle has over you.”

Mrs. Grant stiffened as she accepted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You seemed unwilling to speak in specifics in front of your husband, but lying to your lawyer is never a good idea. I can’t help you if you won’t be honest with me.”

“I’m not lying. To my knowledge there are no illicit photographs, no recorded conversations. That doesn’t mean Victor can’t ruin my husband or his business if he doesn’t get what he wants.”

“Then what is it you’re afraid of?”

She scowled at him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

To hell with the woman’s bravado. Now wasn’t the time, and frankly Perry was too damn tired to play games with his client. “You can tell me or I’ll have my secretary tear up that check, and we’re done.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said, the fear she claimed did not exist lacing her voice.

Perry glanced at the cars making their way to the curb. “Have a good night, Mrs. Grant.” He turned away from her.

“Wait! Please. You have to understand.” Her face crumpled in frustration. “My husband and I, we’ve been married less than a week. I can’t let my uncle destroy my marriage before it’s begun.”

“So he does have something on you.”

“I told you no.” She frowned at him. “If you think a woman can’t be ruined by innuendo, you’re awfully innocent for a successful criminal attorney.”

“You don’t think your husband will stand by you?”

“I don’t intend to find out.”

The streetlights shone on the paint of the hunter green, two-seater convertible that pulled up in front of them and Angela opened the door herself. “Is your secretary coming?”

“She’ll be along.”

“Your driver can follow us.” She got into the car and shut the door firmly. Facingforward, she effectively ended the conversation.

Perry stood for a moment more and fiddled with the cigarette in his hand. Della didn’t make him wait long. She came walking briskly out of the club and slid into a taxicab as he opened the door for her. “Follow that car,” Perry instructed the driver as he got in after her. “Did you get a hold of Paul?”

“Yes. He’s got instructions to run down what he can on the Grants and Mr. Rossi.”

“Good girl.” Perry stretched out in the back of the cab and stifled a yawn.

“He did wonder why on earth you were taking cases mere hours after setting foot back in Los Angeles,” Della said reproachfully.

“And you’re wondering the same thing.”

“I’m wondering why we’re headed across town when you haven’t slept in at least twenty-four hours.”

“There’s something about those two. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“They don’t match, and oddities intrigue you.” Della raised an eyebrow. “Of course, she’s also very pretty. And she seems like the type to get what she wants.”

“Mmm,” Perry agreed absentmindedly. “Maybe. Maybe not this time. Something has her good and rattled. What about him? You recognized his name. Why didn’t I know who he was?”

“Because you don’t read the society pages.”

“Well, what else do you know about him? Spill.” Perry let his head rest on the back of the seat, and his eyes drifted shut. He could allow himself just a moment as Della’s soothing voice washed over him, couldn’t he?

“Frederick Grant is, well, was, the most eligible bachelor in Los Angeles. The only son of Forsyth Grant, a musician who took a heck of a gamble. Opened his own hotel and made a mint. It’s the swankiest joint in town, or so I hear. Anyway, the man is worth a fortune and he retired sometime last year, turned over the business of running everything to his son. Perry, are you awake?”

“Mmhm. Swanky.”

“I can see why Frederick Grant was such a catch. Rich, likable, and handsome. As close to a Prince Charming as you can get in this day and age.”

Prince Charming indeed. Della had said Perry was a prince, but it wasn’t at all like a fairy tale. The prince in the story won the heart of the princess and married her, The End. Della loved him, but he must have done something wrong. Or maybe it was what he hadn’t done yet. He had never pegged Della as the type to need a proposal on bent knee, but if that was what it took he was prepared now. Of course, his kingdom was small, and he didn’t have a white horse to ride up on. Did Della like horses? Maybe he needed to get a horse.

“Perry!”

“What! I’m awake.”

“You’re not. Why don’t you just go home? Have the Grants reschedule the meeting with Victor Rossi for a reasonable hour,” Della pleaded. “Who does business at midnight anyway?”

“We do. You were saying that Frederick Grant had a horse?”

“No. You were asleep.” Della smacked his arm hard enough to sting. “I said Frederick Grant was the most desirable bachelor in town.”

“Wait, desirable to whom?”

“Focus, Chief. Any time a new woman was photographed on his arm it was news. Only, last week, he up and gets married. No one even knew he and the new Mrs. Grant were an item until they announced their engagement, three days before. The wedding was a big affair though. Hard to imagine they could have pulled it off without at least some time to plan.”

“Shotgun wedding do you think?”

“I think men who are that wealthy don’t have to get married if they don’t want to. Then again, they didn’t act like a couple in the first blush of love and marriage either.”

“Are you sure you’re not projecting your own aversion to matrimony on others?” Perry lifted his head and looked at Della. “How do newlyweds in love act?”

“I don’t dislike marriage, I just think...” She shifted uncomfortably under Perry’s steady gaze. “Well, a newlywed in love doesn’t make eyes at their new lawyer’s secretary while their wife is sitting right next to them. It was almost as if...”

“As if what?” he prompted as she trailed off.

“It’s just a feeling.” She shook her head dismissively. “It’s almost as if he were still playing the bachelor, like he hadn’t gotten married at all.”

Perry grunted. “Mrs. Grant, at least, wants her marriage to continue.”

“She definitely wants something.” Della said with a resigned sigh. “I just wish some other attorney was giving it to her.”


	3. Chapter 3

The taxi pulled under the large porte-cochère fronting the Grant Hotel, and Perry paid their cabbie as Della disembarked. Angela Grant was already calling loudly for them as her husband handed his keys off to a valet. “Mr. Mason! Let me show you to the office.”

Perry shook his head. “Mrs. Grant. I’d like you to wait in the lobby, or the hotel bar if you prefer, while your husband and I speak with Mr. Rossi. Miss Street will stay with you.” Della tried to catch Perry’s eye and failed.

“What? Why? I should be there.”

“Didn’t you say Mr. Rossi requested the meeting with _you_ , Mr. Grant?”

“That’s true, he did, Angela.”

“But—”

Perry was firm. “But nothing Mrs. Grant. You agreed that we’d do this my way.”

Angela Grant snapped her mouth shut, fury written on her face.

“I don’t intend to keep you out of the loop, but for now I think it’s best to approach this with a little subtlety,” he added, in a rare attempt at appeasement. Della raised an arched brow that Perry continued to ignore.

Angela Grant looked as if she wanted to argue further, but finally said, “Well, Miss Street. Let me buy you a drink.”

Della couldn’t say she was any happier with the situation than Mrs. Grant, but she allowed herself to be led away. The two women found a seat at a small top, and Angela waved at a waiter, holding up two fingers. Apparently the staff knew her well enough to know what she wanted.

“Tell me Miss Street, do you always do as you’re told?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh come now. Your boss. He is awfully high-handed in his approach.”

Della sat a little straighter, her indignation fueled, at least in part, by her own concerns about Perry’s decision making at the moment. “Mr. Mason is very good at what he does. If he wants to do things a certain way, you can be sure he has a good reason.”

Angela scoffed as two lowball glasses filled with ice and an amber liquid were set down in front of them. She immediately picked up the one in front of her, downed half the contents and then grimaced. “I don’t like it. You really trust him?”

“Of course.” Della let her fingers rest on her own glass. “I wouldn’t work for him if I didn’t.”

“That’s really it? No designs on walking him down the aisle? You were having an awfully cozy dinner out late with the boss.” Della’s fingers tightened around her own drink as she tried to maintain her cool. Angela Grant seemed determined to get a rise out of her for some reason. “It’s alright; I won’t tell. I’m not one to judge. I know all about what these people say about me.” She waved a hand in the direction of the bar. “They all think I married Freddy for his money. As if I didn’t have plenty of that on my own.”

“No,” Della said shortly. “I don’t have designs on marrying my boss.”

“So it’s just loyalty? That’s a difficult thing to find in an employee.”

“In my experience, it’s more difficult to find an employer worth being loyal to,” Della said sharply.

“Well, good employer or no, Perry Mason doesn’t know what he’s getting into with Victor Rossi any more than Freddy does.”

Della’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. “Why did you hire him then?”

“I need...” She made another face as she finished her drink. “I need a miracle. That’s what he’s known for isn’t it?”

Rather than reply, Della took a sip of the drink in her hand. The scotch moved warmly down as notes of honey, citrus, and cinnamon burst on her tongue. It was strong, but not as unpleasant as the woman across from her seemed to find it. Maybe the staff didn’t know the new Mrs. Grant as well as she’d thought.

Angela lifted her glass again and seemed surprised to find it empty. “Well, I’ve never been one to assume miracles happen without a little help.” She stood and draped her fur wrap over her arm. “Feel free to be the dutiful secretary and stay here. I’m going to see my uncle.”

She marched away, and Della grabbed her purse, moving quickly to follow. Angela walked past the reception desk to a door marked Private, and Della followed her through.

The office was empty.

“But...they were supposed to meet here!” Angela spun around and looked suspiciously at Della. “Where did Mr. Mason take them?”

“I don’t know any more than you do.”

Angela let out a breath in frustration and crossed her arms. “I realize I may come across more harshly than a lady should, but I have had to work very hard to get to where I am in life. My uncle is a ruthless man. I would not trust him to be alone with my husband, and frankly I’m not sure I trust him even with a witness present. If he feels like they’re ganging up on him...if he feels threatened...well, he carries a gun. There’s no telling what he might do.”

“You mean to say your uncle might kill them?” Della asked incredulously. “ _That_ is the sort of thing you should lead with!”

“I mean to say he is dangerous, and no one seems to believe me!” Angela said, raising her nose into the air.

Della was more apprehensive than she cared to show. Perry took cases for all sorts of different reasons, most of the time to satisfy his curiosity, and the saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’ was never far from her mind. While she was suspicious of Angela Grant’s motives, the woman seemed to be genuinely worried. Della looked carefully about the room. A large wooden desk, upholstered chairs and couch in rich, red fabric were underscored by an enormous Persian rug stretching from wall to wall. The room was dripping in luxury, and everything seemed to be tidy and in place. She couldn’t see signs of a struggle. Wherever they had gone, they had gone without a fight.

A small folded card lay on the desk blotter. Della picked it up and read the neatly typed words “Meet me in the suite.” She held the card out to Angela. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Angela threw her fur carelessly on the chair behind the desk and took the note.“My uncle has a suite of rooms upstairs.” She dropped it back on the wide mahogany desktop and turned to the small safe in the corner. Mrs. Grant bent down and spun the dial without hesitation, taking only a few moments to open the safe door. She sat back; her face twisted. “Freddy’s gun is gone. Does Mr. Mason carry one?”

“No.”

“Then there’s only one thing to be done. Come on. My uncle couldn’t possibly shoot them if I’m there.”

Angela practically ran to the elevators, Della hot on her heels. Perry had told her to stay with Mrs. Grant, after all. He might argue this wasn’t what he meant, but she had no way of forcing the woman to stay in the hotel bar now, short of tackling her. And with her worry for Perry mounting, she had no compunction about indulging Angela’s desire to find them.

The wait for a car to return to the main floor and the ride in the elevator seemed endlessly long. They arrived on the eleventh floor, and the operator opened the cage to let them out. “Room eleven ten,” Angela said as she made her way down the hall.

They had nearly reached the door in question when Angela hesitated. “You don’t suppose Mr. Mason will refuse to represent us, do you?”

Della’s normally agile mind faltered as Angela changed tack without warning. “What?” She considered herself a good judge of character, but she could not seem get a read on Angela Grant. One minute the woman acted as if she was owed the world, the next she seemed nervous as a rabbit.

“Because we didn’t stay downstairs like he insisted.”

“I thought you were worried your uncle might shoot them.”

“I was...I am...I just—” A muffled report sounded beyond the door and Angela backed away to the opposite wall.

Della spun back to the door, twisted the knob, and pushed, afraid she would find it locked. She stumbled in as the door swung open unimpeded. Perry Mason stood in plain view, a pistol in one hand, the other waving Frederick Grant away from a body on the floor. The body lying on the floor had no face, only a mass of red, pink, and the white of splintered bone. Della clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that was trying to claw its way up her throat.


	4. Chapter 4

Perry Mason watched Della and Mrs. Grant go into the lounge before Frederick Grant called his attention back. “The office is this way Mr. Mason.”

They matched strides, and Fredrick led the way into the richly furnished room. “How did Mr. Rossi get in touch with you,” Perry asked.

“By phone, of course. He lives in Reno. Said he would be coming down today and wanted to talk business.”

“At midnight?” He stifled a yawn. Maybe Della had been right and he was too tired for this. Maybe he was trying too hard. All he knew for sure was that rather than let his clock begin to reset on the east coast as he had planned, the desire to get home had been too strong. The impulse to get everything back to normal, for the two of them to be working in sync again, was primal in its urgency. He hadn’t exaggerated when he had told Della he had missed her. The last week and a half had been lonely, banal, and filled with signal doubt. Perry had hated every minute of it.

His own hurt feelings after she had turned him down again had left him uncharacteristically nervous about the personal side of their relationship. But the professional side was easy; it always clicked. Perry could always fall back on that to find his bearings.

“Well, we were supposed to meet earlier, but he had to reschedule. He sent a letter by special courier.”

“What does Mr. Rossi do?”

“He’s in hotels, same as me. I’ll be honest with you Mr. Mason. I think this is a whole lot of worry about nothing. Victor knows the hospitality business. If he is interested in becoming a partner, I don’t see the harm in hearing him out.”

“Your wife doesn’t think it’s harmless.”

“My wife means well, but frankly she’s worried over nothing.”

“I’m surprised you let her hire a lawyer over nothing.”

Frederick shrugged and leaned against the desk. “It’s her money. She can spend it how she likes. I don’t think she’d appreciate me running roughshod over her. Maybe I’m too modern for your tastes Mr. Mason, but I’ve always felt a married woman has as much right to individual happiness as a married man does.”

Perry thought about Della’s appraisal in the cab. He wondered if Frederick Grant really did care about his wife’s happiness or whether it was a convenient excuse for him to do as he pleased. It lent a certain credence to the thought that Grant appeared to be in a marriage of convenience rather than affection.

“Why do you think she’s so worried?”

“I don’t pretend to know how a woman’s mind works, Mr. Mason. They are different creatures after all.” And not quite as modern as he described himself, it seemed.

A knock sounded on the door. At Frederick’s nod, Perry opened it to reveal a bellhop. The crisply dressed young man walked in and handed an envelope to the man perched on the front edge of the desk. “Mr. Grant, I was asked to deliver this to you.”

“Thank you, ah,” he glanced at the brass colored badge on the boy’s chest. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Frederick opened the envelope and the bellhop closed the door as he left. “Apparently the meeting has moved upstairs.” They moved to the elevator and Perry spared a glance towards the bar. He caught sight of Della’s cream colored coat, but her back was to him. He knew asking her to stay behind rankled, but she’d forgive him. He wanted to meet Victor Rossi on his terms, not Angela’s.

When they reached the eleventh floor, Grant directed Perry’s attention to the far end of the hall. “We’ve converted several rooms into a suite of sorts for Mr. Rossi. It’s actually something we’ve done before for important clientele. The office is in eleven oh eight.”

Grant knocked on the door and tried the knob. It was locked. “Huh.” He knocked again and reached into his pocket to pull out a set of master keys. He took a moment to find the right key and then fitted it into the lock. The door swung open with a click, and Perry followed him inside.

“Victor?”

Silence greeted them. Perry knew immediately something was wrong. A kick of adrenaline banished his fatigue. “Don’t touch anything.” All the lights in the room were on, even the desk lamp. The curtains were pulled back from the windows and Perry glanced at his reflection in them.

“What? Why?”

Perry pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and walked to the door connecting this room to the next. Using it to prevent his fingerprints from remaining on the shiny surface, he turned the knob. The door opened smoothly. The lights were all on in the next room as well. Here the curtains were drawn. Sprawled on its stomach in the center of the room was the body of a dark-haired man in a gray, pinstriped suit. A half unpacked suitcase lay open on the bed.

Perry bent to examine the body more closely. It’s head was turned to the side and it’s face was a mess of blood and bone. A single orb, recognizable as a brown eye stared up at him. A silver revolver with a pearl handle was laying a foot away.

“Jesus,” Grant hissed.

“Is it Victor Rossi?”

“I..It could be, the size of the man is right, and the hair color. Son of a—that’s my gun.”

Perry looked levelly at Frederick. “Did you kill him?”

“Of course not!”

Grant pulled his pocket square out and picked up the gun before Perry could stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s my gun. It’ll have my prints on it,” he said as he wiped furiously at the outside of the gun. “Look, this is some kind of setup. I didn’t kill him, and I’m not going to take the wrap for it!”

“Give me the gun.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“Either I’m representing you or I’m not. If I am, give me the gun.”

He hesitated a moment and then handed over the weapon. Perry brought the gun to his nose and then checked the load. It smelled of stale oil, and six bullets still were still chambered. “When was the last time you cleaned your gun?”

“I don’t know. Months ago probably. I really only have it as a precaution. We sometimes have valuables in the hotel safe.”

“Are any of the other rooms on this floor occupied?” Perry moved two pillows to a chair. He was sure the mess that had taken the place of the man’s face was far too big for the pistol in his hand. It wouldn’t be hard to prove.

“No. Not currently. Victor is the only VIP we have right now. Was.”

Perry waved Frederick back, buried the nose of the gun in the stack of pillows, and pulled the trigger.

“What are you—?”

He was reaching for the pillow when the door leading to the hallway swung open. Perry looked up in surprise. Della Street took two steps into the room, and all the blood drained from her face. Her hand came up to cover her mouth as she stared at the body on the floor wide-eyed.

Perry moved carefully, but quickly around the dead man and took hold of her arm. “Della...are you alright?”

She nodded mutely.

“Come over here, but watch your step. You’re sure you’re okay?” He guided her to the corner of the room.

“Fine,” she said faintly.

Once he was out of sight of the door, his body blocking his actions from Frederick Grant, he used one hand to ease open her purse. Della tore her eyes from the gruesome sight on the floor and found his. She looked at him in puzzlement, as he flipped on the safety and slipped the gun into her purse.

“I’m going to call the police.”

Della nodded slowly. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Maybe I should...wait outside. I don’t want to disturb anything.”

“Good girl.” He gave her a small smile.

Mrs. Grant peered through the open doorway, breathless. “Oh my God. What happened?”

Perry let his hand fall from Della’s shoulder. “We don’t know Mrs. Grant. This is how your husband and I found the body. Do you know who this is?”

“Why would I...how could anyone tell? His face! I...wait...” She bent down next to the body. “His watch. That’s...that watch belongs to my uncle.”

“You’re sure?”

“There ought to be an inscription on the back.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Perry said sharply, and Angela pulled her hand back. “The police can check after they’ve cleared the scene.”

“But you can’t call the police! We heard a gunshot!” She looked to Della, but Perry kept his eyes fixed on her.

“How do you know you heard a gunshot Mrs. Grant?”

“It must have been!” She waved at the corpse. “He’s dead! And I know Freddy’s gun was gone. You didn’t kill him, did you Freddy?” Angela’s sentences came faster and faster in a rapid-fire hysteria. “You can’t let Freddy go to jail! Aren’t you supposed to protect your clients?”

“I can only protect clients who tell me the truth.”

“I told you he was dangerous! That’s the truth!”

“Did you kill him?”

“No! This is outrageous!“

“Angela, calm down!” Frederick shouted. “For once would you listen? What is the point of hiring the best defense lawyer in the city if you insist on pigheadedly doing everything your own way?”

Angela looked as if she had been slapped.

Perry’s face became still. “The police have to be called Mrs. Grant. I’m an officer of the court, and I have a duty to report a murder. I can only defend you insofar as I have the facts of the case at my disposal.”

“I’ve been with Freddy all night,” Angela said, her voice dropping in pitch as she calmed.

Perry turned to Grant for confirmation. He nodded slowly.

“The police will try to make a determination of when this man was killed. Where were you this afternoon?”

“At the hotel. I had work to do. I shopped some this afternoon. I don’t know.”

“The police will ask, and you will need to be more specific than that.”

She glanced at Grant. “Working. I put some calls through to our Reno office; I need to have my car driven up here. Surely that can be confirmed! I went out shopping at four and met Freddy for a late dinner at Fischer’s. That’s where we met you.”

“Where did you shop?”

“I...Haggarty’s and May Company.”

“Do you have receipts of your purchases?”

“It was just the one.”

“One item in five hours?”

“I bought some perfume. I was looking for something new,” she said indignantly.

“Mmmm,” Perry frowned. “Why did you come up here Mrs. Grant?”

“Your secretary and I found a note in the office. And then—”

“That is what you will tell the police when they ask. Do not give them extraneous information, and do not speculate. Do you understand?” Both she and Frederick nodded. “Mrs. Grant, you can wait in the hallway with Della. And this time stay there.”

Perry moved to pick up the phone that sat on a small table by the window. As he asked the operator to connect him with Homicide he felt a draft of air around his feet. He pulled the damask curtain aside to expose a broken, blood-stained window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry about the delay in posting! More to come.


	5. Chapter 5

It was three in the morning before the police let them leave the scene of the murder. They hadn’t arrested the Grants, Perry, or Della herself so she supposed she couldn’t call the night a complete disaster. Della was so tired she felt like she was fighting to stay awake every time she blinked. She had no idea how Perry was still standing.

They arrived at Perry’s apartment, and Della made them each a stiff drink. Perry shed his coat and tie before accepting the glass of amber liquid and sitting heavily on the couch. Della downed her drink with a grimace, still standing at the bar cart, and poured herself a second.

The evening had started with such promise. Perry had come home early because he had missed her. He seemed to have forgiven her for rejecting him, and then...and then he had turned everything upside down by accepting the Grants as clients. Was he so bored he wanted to go straight back to work without even sleeping? It wasn’t that Della didn’t love a mystery, and she certainly loved their work. She just preferred the mysteries that walked in the office as opposed to the ones that interrupted dinner. _The man has the choice between an evening with you and a murder. You know the murder will always win._ She was hopeless. Jealous of the very thing she loved about the man. She tried to think about something else, but all that came to mind was the sight of Perry standing over that body with a gun. She was going to dream about it. “Perry... _did_ I hear a gunshot?”

He grunted. “We need to have a talk about you running into rooms you think people are shooting in.”

“We need to have a talk about you being _in_ rooms people are shooting in,” Della snapped back.

“I mean it, Della; I’m serious. I wanted you downstairs for a reason.”

“Well, I think it’s pretty clear Angela Grant knew there was a body in that room, and she was going to make sure someone found it. What exactly was I supposed to do?”

Perry set his drink down on the coffee table untouched. “You’re supposed to let me find the bodies.”

“Maybe our next client will have the decency to bring you one when you’re better rested.” Della blew out her breath in exasperation. “Why...” Why did work sound better to him than an evening alone together? Why had he let the Grant’s draw him into this mess?“Why did you fire that gun?”

Perry let out a sigh. “Curiosity, I suppose. Grant had already tampered with it.”

“Curiosity?” Della replied in amazement. “You wanted to know what it would be like to have me steal evidence from the scene of a crime? Or you wanted to know what it would be like to give me a heart attack? No, I know, you wanted to know what it might be like to get disbarred. Honestly Perry, what are we going to do with it?”

He rubbed at his face. “Put it in the safe in the office. Get the number off it first and have Paul run it. If I’m right, it isn’t the gun that killed Victor Rossi.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Perry stood and shook his head. “Nothing for it now. I need a few hours of sleep. We can take stock tomorrow.”

Della took another swallow of scotch and reached mindlessly for the bottle again.

“You keep on like that, you’re going to have a hell of a hangover.”

“I think I’m entitled. Do you...do you think Angela Grant killed her uncle?”

“I don’t know. Do you think she spent five hours shopping for a bottle of perfume?”

Della snorted. “Not a chance.”

He gave her a tired smile. “Come to bed. Things will look clearer after a few hours sleep.”

Instead of refilling her glass Della set the bottle back down with a sigh. “I don’t have anything here,” she said regretfully. No clothes, no toothbrush, and only the makeup in her purse. Perry nodded, his smile fading as he stood. Della sighed, her mind already made up. The thought of another night in an empty bed was as appetizing as another three hours going rounds with Detective Holcomb. She put her glass on the bar cart unfinished and followed Perry to his bedroom.

Neither spoke as they went through their respective routines. Della was more than accustomed to Perry’s style of doing things. Opening up with more biting commentary might be satisfying, but certainly not helpful. When his thoughts were in order he’d talk to her. Pushing through her fatigue, Della stayed in the bathroom to wash out and hang her stockings. Her clothes she folded as neatly as she could, but she doubted they would hold up to any scrutiny tomorrow. She slipped on the pajama top Perry had left on her side of the bed and rolled the sleeves to her wrists. He was fast asleep by the time she slipped gratefully into his bed. Della wrapped one arm around his chest and pillowed her head against his shoulder. She let the sound of Perry’s steady breathing lull her to sleep, and despite her fears, she didn’t dream about anything at all.

Sometime after eight, the urge to evacuate her bladder woke Della. The sun was shining brightly through the cracks in the blinds, but Perry slept on unaware. Della kissed her sleeping beauty gently on the forehead and got up to get dressed. As lovely as the thought of crawling back under the sheets with him was, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Now that she was awake, her brain was churning with the events of the previous night. Perry needed sleep desperately, but she could talk to Paul and get things moving. The sooner the gun in her purse was sorted the happier she would be.

Della let the shower beat down on her longer than usual, the warm water easing the unusual stiffness that had crept into her muscles from the previous day’s labor. She was going to have to finish cleaning the library too.

When she opened the door to the office on the ninth floor of the Brent Building an hour later Gertrude Lade urgently waved her over to the reception desk. “Della, Lieutenant Tragg is waiting to see you in your office,” she said quietly. “I told him I didn’t know when you’d be in.”

Della nodded, and tucked her purse under Gertie’s desk. Gertie picked it up, opened the bottom drawer, and set it inside without blinking. “Thank you, Gertie. Would you call Paul Drake? If he’s in, have him come down to start checking on something for me. He won’t miss it.” She looked significantly at the drawer Gertie had just closed.

Gertie nodded and reached for the phone. Della slipped her coat and hat off, hung them on the rack in the corner, and squared her shoulders to do battle.

She opened the door to her office with a smile fixed on her face. “Lieutenant Tragg. What can I do for you?”

Neatly dressed in an perfectly unremarkable suit, his hat resting on his lap, Arthur Tragg snatched up his fedora as he rose to greet Della. Despite his harmless appearance, Tragg was easily the most dangerous detective working Homicide. He could give Perry a run for his money when it came to cleverness, and the only reason they weren’t constantly at odds was the Detective’s scrupulous honesty. “Miss Street, you look perfectly lovely this morning. One would never guess you had been hunting up corpses into the wee hours last night.”

Della flushed, more embarrassed than flattered. She resisted the urge to straighten her slightly wrinkled skirt. Tragg hadn’t been the homicide detective on the scene at the Grant Hotel, but clearly he had heard about it. “Did you come down here just to try to turn my head, Lieutenant?”

“I wish it wasn’t otherwise.” He smiled ruefully.

Della let the smile fall from her face. “You seem to be aware I had a very long night. I don’t have much energy to spare for the usual pleasantries. Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here?”

Tragg pulled a familiar looking, folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to her. Della took the subpoena and skimmed it quickly. “I’m to testify before a grand jury?”

“Ten o’clock Monday morning.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Burger got a tip that you might be holding out about last night’s events.”

“Hamilton Burger issued a subpoena on a tip?” she asked with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “That sounds a lot riskier than the way he usually plays things.”

“Then you know it had to be a very good tip. Burger wants you on the record and under oath.”

“I don’t know what I could possibly tell them that would help in his murder investigation. Client confidentiality usually precludes anything that might be of interest to the District Attorney.”

Tragg gave her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I volunteered to serve the subpoena for a reason, Della. Chalk it up to a desire to see the playing field even.” He turned his hat in his hands. “Burger’s fishing for ammunition against your boss, not his clients. He seems to think he’s found the weak point he needs.”

The vision of Perry standing over a body, gun in hand flashed through her mind. “Telling me makes the playing field even?”

“Maybe not, Burger’s hardly a fool, even if your boss often makes him look one.” Tragg shrugged gently. “But I’d say it gives Mason a fighting chance.”

“Well, I’m sure the knowledge that I’m his weak point will be of great help to him,” Della bit out, unable to reign in her temper enough to continue her charade of indifference.

A chuckle escaped Tragg, “I’ll show myself out.” He paused at the door and looked at her appraisingly. “Good day, Miss Street.”

Only when the door had closed behind the police officer did Della sit down in her chair and let a wave of hopelessness crash over her. What was she going to do? Tragg was right; Hamilton Burger was nobody’s fool. The thought of testifying to what she had witnessed sent chills down her spine. Their esteemed District Attorney would make sure it was painted in the worst possible light.

Perry couldn’t be pinned for murder if Frederick Grant was honest, but he could certainly lose his license for tampering with evidence. He could even be charged as an accessory after the fact. Burger would have a field day.

Della swallowed a sob. She had to think. What were her options?

She could lie. The idea didn’t sit particularly well, but to save Perry, all options were on the table. If Burger’s tip was solid though, and there was a corroborating witness, she’d go to jail for committing perjury. A vengeful DA would make sure she stayed there as long as possible, four years if Della remembered the penalty correctly, longer if Burger tied her testimony to the murder investigation. Della could only think of two corroborating witnesses, and it made her blood boil. Had the tip come from the Grants or had some member of the hotel staff heard the muffled gunshot and recognized it for what it was?

Option two was to refuse to testify. And go to jail for contempt until she agreed to speak. How long would it be before she gave in? How long was forever?

Option three? She could run. If Perry would let her. He had come after her once before when she had tried to avoid being called to the stand, afraid she would be the one to condemn his client.* Could she convince him to let her go? Or would he insist on taking his licks? She groaned. She knew that answer without asking.

There had to be _something_ she could do that didn’t involve prison or upending her life completely. The door to reception opened and a lanky Paul Drake sauntered into the room. “Knock, knock, Beautiful.”

“Oh, Paul.” It occurred to her that his customary tattoo on the door had gone unheeded while she had been wrapped up in worry. “Did Gertie give you—“ She broke off as he set her purse on her desk. The subpoena peeked out from beneath it.

“Yes, after your very official visitor left. I’ve got the number off it.” He perched on the edge of her desk. “How the hell did Perry get tangled up in this so fast?”

“You know Perry as well as I do.”

“Sob story from a pretty girl?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’ve got the first pass on the Grants and Victor Rossi. When will the old softie be in?”

Her lips thinned at his teasing. “I don’t know. I hope he’s sleeping.”

Paul looked at her like she had suddenly sprouted wings. “How does he do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get a secretary so devoted that she hopes he’s taking a day off while she manages of everything else.”

“I’m not managing everything, Paul, I—”

“What exactly do you call fielding not just a devilishly handsome private detective, but the police, and,” he pointed at her purse, “incriminating evidence?

“It’s not incriminating evidence!” she bristled. “I don’t think.”

“Mm-hm. Well, just so long as it’s not in my possession when the police come looking.”

“You’re a real stand up guy, Mr. Drake. Do I need to find a new detective agency for Mr. Mason’s business or do you think you can make a minimal effort to do your job today?”

Paul’s jocular manner fell aside. “Aw, come on Beautiful. I didn’t mean it like that. I just want you to be careful. Perry takes some crazy risks sometimes without thinking about how it’s gonna affect us mere mortals.”

Della folded her arms. “He takes risks to protect his clients. Everyone deserves representation—”

“Before the court. Yeah, I’ve heard it before. Very noble. But you and I both know, not every client is worth protecting. Clients who are on the level don’t spring bodies on their attorneys.”

Della opened her mouth to argue, but the thought that the Grants might be responsible for the subpoena silenced her.

“Now, don’t read me the riot act.” Paul popped up from her desk and crossed to the door. “I’ll go get the info on that item, which I strongly suggest you put someplace the police are not looking, and I promise I will be waiting by the phone all day to deliver the goods on Victor Rossi and Frederick and Angela Grant, just as soon as Perry wants it.”

Della let her head fall to her hands as the door clicked shut. She shouldn’t have snapped at Paul, but his thoughts echoed a traitorous undercurrent in her own. She wanted to squash them.

She picked up her purse, pulled out Angela Grant’s check to prepare it to be deposited, and slipped the subpoena inside in its place. She seemed to be collecting things she’d much rather be rid of. Straightening, she left the check on her desk and carried her purse through to the inner office. The wall safe was on the back wall, hidden behind the painting there. She double checked the combination in her address book, careful not to touch the gun, and put the dial through its paces.

Della pulled open the heavy little door and was greeted by a cascade of papers. She pursed her lips; it was just like Perry to simply shove things back in haphazardly when he found the one thing he needed. That single-minded focus of his had its drawbacks. She straightened the pile of documents. She knew without looking she was holding the office lease, several powers of attorney, and Perry’s will. She set them back in the safe only to have them begin to slide out once more. What in the world?

Della reached into the darkness and felt around the back of the safe. Her hand closed on a small box Perry must have buried under the papers, and she drew it into the light. Her chest constricted.

The box was a turquoise color she knew was called Tiffany Blue. She opened it with shaking hands and stared. Nestled in the silk lining was a plain gold band topped by a small, square stone that shimmered mesmerizingly as the light struck it. It was simple, and beautiful, and perfect. Della snapped the box closed and resisted the urge to open it again.

When had he gotten it? Had he ordered it before his latest ill-fated proposal, or had he picked it up in New York on his way through? Even after she had said no. Was that why he had really come by the office last night, to put it in the safe? All of the doubt of the previous weeks came rushing back. He might have forgiven her, but he hadn’t forgotten. He was going to ask her again, and the next time when she said no...mightn’t he decide she was too much trouble and heartache and simply be done with her?

The sound of a key scraping the lock of the private entrance to Perry’s office startled her from her churning thoughts. Della threw the papers and ring box back into the safe and slammed the door shut. She was adjusting the picture frame when the door swung open to admit Perry himself.

“Chief!” She forced surprise to cover how flustered she felt. “I...I didn’t expect you to be up before noon.”

Perry gave her a small smile and a shrug. “No rest for the wicked. I couldn’t sleep anyway. I want to know what Paul has for me.”

She nodded, her heart hammering against her rib cage. “He was here fifteen minutes ago. He promised to be waiting by the phone.”

“Thanks, Della. I’ll have him come back by then.”

“Perry, I—” All the words died on her tongue. What on earth was she going to say? He tilted his head curiously as he waited for her to find her voice. He looked as tired as she had ever seen him. He had shaved and his clothes were fresh, but the deep, dark circles around his eyes betrayed the scant amount of sleep he’d had. “I’ll make coffee.”

“That sounds perfect,” he replied, his face puzzled. Della fled the room before he could ask anything else.

She made her way to the kitchenette, remembering as she filled the pot with water that not only was the gun was still in her purse, but that she needed to tell Perry about the subpoena that was in there with it. Della stopped short as a wave of clarity passed over her. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. It was a prison of sorts and would most definitely upend her life, but there, nestled in the small blue box, was option number four. She could marry him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Case of The Substitute Face by Erle Stanley Gardner


End file.
